


Golden Set

by starfishing



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishing/pseuds/starfishing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He speaks in lilting rays of sunshine. It doesn't faze Gen'ichirou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Set

"This is just a ruse," Gen'ichirou says, and Seiichi can hear the soft dip of amusement in his deep voice.

Seiichi smiles. "What's a ruse, Gen'ichirou?" He speaks in lilting rays of sunshine. It doesn't faze Gen'ichirou.

"'Training.'" There's a hint of Renji in Gen'ichirou's voice, so subtly mocking it's almost undetectable. "I don't know why you bother."

"Because not bothering would be unprofessional," answers Seiichi, chuckling, low and throaty. "Appearances, Gen'ichirou, appearances." He finishes fastening on the wrist weights and flexes his arm, sleek sinew bulging and shifting beneath pretty skin.

With a gleaming smile, he turns his gaze on Gen'ichirou. "Will it make you feel better if I go first?" he asks.

Gen'ichirou pauses to consider the ache in his track pants. It most certainly would make him feel better, but training is training, and Gen'ichirou trains himself harder than anyone else. After just a moment, he replies, "No. I'll go first."

The weights are considerably heavier than what they train with ordinarily; Gen'ichirou can feel the pull of gravity as he moves around behind his captain. Seiichi is tense, anticipating, willing himself not to look over his shoulder. Gen'ichirou lets him wait, counts the seconds until Seiichi's sharp hiss of impatience. Only six.

"Patience," he chides, smirk audible. He rests broad palms on Seiichi's shoulders, feeling the jut of bones beneath his jacket. "Patience is just as important as strength."

"You don't have to tell _me_ that," Seiichi grouses, shrugging agitatedly as Gen'ichirou slides the jacket off of him. "You're no more patient than I am." It's a cheap stab and a lie, and neither of them cares to point it out.

Almost delicately, Gen'ichirou smooths his hands down Seiichi's arms, relishing the twitch of his biceps. He is far more patient than Seiichi's ever been, though it is a learned quality. He thinks he picked it up from Renji, and that it's come easier with age. Right now, he is just this side of patient. It won't take much before he's chomping at the bit.

His hands track down Seiichi's sides and fingers dip beneath the waistband of the younger boy's pants. Seiichi stands stubbornly still, body held rigid to keep himself from reacting too soon. Gen'ichirou reaches lower, slowly, the tug of the weights on his wrist making his movements more purposeful, careful. Letting his hand drop would be easy; lowering it deliberately takes measured strength.

Seiichi draws in a testy breath just before Gen'ichirou touches him, calloused palm rough on Seiichi's most sensitive skin. The breath turns breathless. Seiichi is hard under Gen'ichirou's fingers; as always, harder and more eager than Gen'ichirou. He has no capacity for patience, only driving force to get what he wants _now_. Gen'ichirou takes advantage of this restlessness as often as his own impatience will allow him. Seeing Seiichi writhe and growl epithets is a soothing reminder that they're not all that different, that Seiichi is only human, a prancing stallion of a teenage boy just like the rest of them.

With a twist of his wrist, Gen'ichirou pushes Seiichi's pants down just far enough to pull him erect and free. Seiichi is quivering now with the effort of not bucking into the too-slow touch. He makes a low sound, warning, sharp. Gen'ichirou ignores it serenely. This is no place where Seiichi can order him around; here, authority is much more evenly distributed. Here, they are divested of rank and accomplishment.

Gen'ichirou begins to pump Seiichi's cock, unhurried, with just enough torque and not enough grip. He sees Seiichi's fists clench at his sides as Gen'ichirou leans over his shoulder to watch his hand move. Seiichi's breathing is ragged, harsh, and his eyes are narrowed where they're fixed on the locker bank. The sound makes Gen'ichirou's cock throb.

Now begins Gen'ichirou's impatience. He picks up the pace, his motions becoming less awkward as he adjusts to the weight on his wrist. His fingers squeeze just behind the head, pressure easing off with each downstroke.

It's impossible for Seiichi to hide his body's reactions now. His head falls back, finding Gen'ichirou's shoulder, and his eyes close, laboured breathing turning to low, almost whining groans. He lets his hips twist up into Gen'ichirou's hand, adopting a counter-rhythm to satisfy the primal urge to fuck something — anything.

The same urge is wearing on Gen'ichirou's precarious self-control, and Seiichi's body arching and contorting in his arms does nothing to dissipate it. Before he knows it, Seiichi's back is flush up against him, the bulge of his cock pressing tight against Seiichi's ass. They moan in unison, high and keening overlapping low and coarse.

"Should've let me — aah — go first," Seiichi pants. The imperious tone is lost in translation, but Gen'ichirou understands his intention.

"Shut up," he warns.

Seiichi's eyes flash open at the edge in Gen'ichirou's voice. It's a dangerous one, the same gleaming edge that comes in when Renji presses all the wrong buttons and won't stop. It turns Seiichi on.

"What? Pissed that you can't handle it?" Seiichi arches his back, sacrificing friction for his ass against Gen'ichirou's straining hard-on. He moans, voice dropping into dark velvet. "All you have to do is ask."

All at once, Seiichi is flipped around, pinned to the locker bank, his mouth crushed beneath Gen'ichirou's and his bare cock rubbing harshly against the fabric tented over Gen'ichirou's crotch. He grunts and laughs into the kiss, his hands suddenly free from his self-assigned restraints as they delve into Gen'ichirou's pants. Gen'ichirou muffles indistinct, wordless groans in Seiichi's hair, the sounds broken by gasping endeavours for air.

Seiichi's hands are heavy, his motions haphazard as he jerks Gen'ichirou off, his own arousal pitching higher with every unconscious thrust of Gen'ichirou's hips. "Can't handle — ngh — a little heavy training, you — nn _fuck_ —ing weakling?" he manages. Gen'ichirou's mouth finds his again, words growled against his lips.

"Shut up, Seiichi, shut up."

They kiss, and it swallows the last of Seiichi's breath. He feels light-headed. Gen'ichirou's hand is as rough and reckless as his own, tight grip just shy of painful. Seiichi's head spins dizzyingly, the spiralling feeling coiling down into his stomach, warm and aching and climbing and tensing — Seiichi's whole body draws taut, and his cock pulses against Gen'ichirou's as he comes, breathing in gasps and strained curses when Gen'ichirou surrenders his lips.

As soon as he can see again, Seiichi's hand remembers to move, and two more quick jerks bring Gen'ichirou off, groaning from deep in his chest. He grinds against Seiichi, their cocks still pressed together between them, and Seiichi feels his knees trying to buckle at the overstimulation. He's grateful to be pinned between Gen'ichirou and the lockers.

They breathe harshly in the silence, neither moving until Gen'ichirou nuzzles Seiichi's neck, then pulls away.

"Game, set and match, Sanada," he declares, picking up a confident stride once his legs agree to work. He leaves the wrist weights in place as he cleans up and washes his hands.

Seiichi doesn't move an inch, just watches Gen'ichirou with a lazy smirk, like the cat who didn't have to catch the canary, because the canary came to him. He looks on as Gen'ichirou frowns at the white smears on his pants, wetting a towel to wipe them off. "What game were you playing, Gen'ichirou? That was a golden set — game, set and match, Yukimura; six games to love."

Whether it's a bluff or not, Gen'ichirou throws the wet towel at him. Seiichi laughs, tired and uncontrived. "You're still too early to win against me," he says, beginning to clean himself up.

"It's a good thing you make losing so rewarding for me," Gen'ichirou retorts, "or I might decide to win someday."

"If you think losing against me is rewarding, you _should_."


End file.
